To Find a Home
by GryffindorCriss
Summary: Just a few weeks after her fifth birthday, a rather handsome-looking woman came to the house, watching the remaining children like a hawk. She had tried not to squirm uncomfortably in her dress, the fabric itchy against her skin, her blonde hair pulled far too tightly back off her face and her shoes pinching horribly. (OR: Modesty just wants to find a home)


**So I'm aware that no one will read this (probably) but I wanted to write it anyway because I'm honestly not satisfied with how Modesty Barebone just disappeared from the story. Maybe she'll turn up again in another film, but at the moment I'm dissatisfied by the lack of information about her, hence why this fic was born. **

**There WILL be prominent Newtina at some point, maybe the next part even - gotta build it up!**

**Anywho, if you're reading, I hope you enjoy! :)**

* * *

She was the ninth child born into the family, just thirteen months after her brother, Thomas; her oldest sister, Miriam, was eleven and a half, and already attempting to find some kind of work, because the truth was that their family was struggling terribly. She had been small and weak, so much so that her family hadn't been sure if she'd survive – but she had, even in the harsh winter, and she'd grown stronger quickly. A ninth mouth to feed was inconvenient, but still there was no lack of love for her; family was family, after all, and their parents wanted the best for them all.

Her parents chose her name in the same way that they had chosen most of their children's names; her brothers were named after the apostles of Jesus, her sisters given good Christian names too – hopefully it didn't matter if they weren't baptised, at least not for now. Their parents worked Sundays, just as they did every other day, leaving their younger children with the older ones, and so they didn't attend church regularly – but the ones who were old enough were taught to pray before bedtime.

She was three and a half when her youngest sister was born; even with her oldest three siblings now working menial jobs such as sweeping chimneys, working newspaper rounds and sweeping sidewalks, money was far too little. None of the children were getting the food they needed, and everyone went hungry; the older children often gave up some of their food so that the younger ones could have better meals, but even then, there was too little. She wore hand-me-down dresses from her older sisters, and they never fit her quite right; they were either too tight and short, or too big and close to falling off of her. She saw little girls in the street sometimes, wearing brand new dresses – ones that were clean, pressed, bright and colourful – and she wished she could have some like that too, though she knew it was ungrateful considering how hard her family worked.

Shortly after her younger sister turned a year old, it became clear that things were not working; the younger children couldn't be left alone all day, but the older ones and their parents had no choice but to work. There wasn't enough food on the table at all, and some nights there wasn't anything for supper; their parents knew they couldn't support all of them, couldn't give them the best chance at a good future like they deserved, and in the end, it didn't feel like a choice so much as a must.

Visitors would come to the house, saying hello to each of the children and examining them; she always knew when it would happen, because she was forced into her best dress (which was too small for her) and told to be polite. Thomas was the first to be adopted from the family, trying not to cry as he said his goodbyes to his parents and siblings; she never saw him again, though she knew he went to a relatively middle-class home. Another couple took her sister, Elizabeth, who was only a year older than Thomas; again, she never saw her again. Her parents were distraught, but they knew it was for the best – these people could give their children more of a chance in life, a chance to be educated and brought up well.

Just a few weeks after her fifth birthday, a rather handsome-looking woman came to the house, watching the remaining children like a hawk. She had tried not to squirm uncomfortably in her dress, the fabric itchy against her skin, her blonde hair pulled far too tightly back off her face and her shoes pinching horribly. When the woman had spoken to her, she had been quiet and polite, not daring to look her in the eye; she wouldn't be chosen, she told herself, because she hadn't been chosen before – it was far more likely the woman would take nine-year-old Peter, or perhaps ten-year-old Pauline, for they could read and do things.

It was a great shock when the woman announced she wanted to take _her_ instead.

She didn't cry when she packed her things into a bag, nor when her parents and siblings said their goodbyes; she had followed the stern lady out of the home silently, not daring to make a noise. This was a good decision, it turned out, because the woman didn't appear to want to make any conversation as they walked through the streets of New York, only occasionally looking to make sure the girl was still with her. As they walked, she wondered if she'd ever see her family again – if she'd ever go home again.

Somehow, she already knew it was unlikely.

* * *

The Second Salem Church was a dingy wooden building on Pike Street that appeared to be disused and in need of repair. There were posters and flyers on the walls outside, and even though she couldn't read yet, she thought they looked angry.

Her adoptive mother was called Mary Lou Barebone, she soon found out, and she was the leader of an anti-witchcraft group called the 'New Salem Philanthropic Society' (_NSPS_, she repeated to herself in her head, not wanting to forget). She already had two adopted children, a boy and a girl who were both much older than her, and older than her real siblings had been. The girl, Chastity, was the younger of the two and had been there the longest; she didn't say a lot, giving a small nod to the girl but remaining dutifully silent. The boy, Credence, looked extremely nervous and seemed to hunch slightly on the spot; he looked somewhat curious to see their new sister, but also remained silent after glancing fearfully at their mother.

She was given a new name too, one that meant she fit in with her adoptive siblings; to be modest was a virtue, Mary Lou informed her, and so she was called Modesty. She was so young that she soon enough forgot her real name, though this could have also been because of the threatening manner in which the Barebone matriarch had told her not to answer to her old name anymore.

_My name is Modesty,_ she repeated to herself in her head – she was determined not to forget. _Modesty – I'm Modesty now._

Unlike at home, Modesty had a room to herself – but it was cramped and bleak, containing only a small bed and an oil lamp; it was frightfully cold too, even with the window shut. Mary Lou had taken her bag from her and sorted through her clothes; only a few pairs of underwear, sensible black shoes, and two dresses seemed to fit her criteria, and the rest were taken away.

"I will buy you appropriate clothes," Mary Lou had said, and that was that. Somehow, Modesty doubted she would be getting the pretty or colourful dresses she desperately wanted.

There was a strict routine to every day; up at six-thirty, washed and dressed by seven, a small breakfast that had to be eaten before seven-fifteen before being followed by morning prayers and chores. At ten, they would go out with Mary Lou to whichever street corner she deemed acceptable and hand out leaflets while she preached; if they returned with leaflets, they weren't doing a good job. Sometimes they would walk around afterwards to hand out leaflets, to tell people of their movement; other times, Mary Lou had people to see. There were arranged meetings in the evenings on certain days, and every evening there would be a number of homeless or starving children who would come in for food – on the condition they collected leaflets to distribute. There were evening prayers before bed, always, which Mary Lou oversaw to be sure that they were being done.

In their spare time, there was little to do; they didn't attend school, but they were taught to read and write. Modesty learnt the alphabet with the samplers Mary Lou instructed her to make – each letter was a different sin – and the only dolls she had were ones tied to a stake or on a noose. She was allowed to play hopscotch, on the condition she recited anti-witchcraft rhymes while she did it. Most of the time, Mary Lou oversaw everything they did – but on the occasion that she left the three of them in the church alone (which meant Chastity was in charge, as her favourite), they could relax slightly. It was during these periods of time that Modesty began talking to Credence, the only person who seemed as miserable as she was.

Credence was shy, quiet, and he kept to himself; his hair had been cut into a severe bowl-cut style that didn't look particularly good on him (Mary Lou cut his hair, Modesty soon found out). Her new brother was nothing like any of her real ones back home; he was tall, lanky, dark haired with dark eyes to match. Even so, she still found herself liking Credence the best and following him about – she missed her older siblings, missed the relationship she had had with them, and being around Credence reminded her of being looked after by her brothers. He seemed sad, rarely speaking in public, and it was painfully obvious that he was fearful of everything – especially their Ma.

When Mary Lou wasn't around, Chastity seemed somewhat more relaxed too; she continued with her chores and making more pamphlets, even with their adoptive mother's absence, and It was obvious that she believed in the zealous anti-witchcraft sentiment, but even she was tense and afraid of their Ma. Like Credence, she kept quiet and did what she was told; she encouraged the children from the streets to hand out leaflets, stating that she'd know if they were dumped. Despite all of this, Modesty sensed that she was a good person, deep down – she was just afraid, beaten down into submission, and she couldn't be blamed for feeling that way since that was how all of them felt.

In some respects, Modesty knew she was lucky: there was a roof over her head (even if it did leak when it rained), she was given food (though it wasn't the most nutritious), clothes, and she was taught to read and write. However, she couldn't help but wish that she was back at home in the crumbling tenement with her parents and siblings – unlike the church, it had been a real home.

* * *

She had been there for a few months when it first happened – or, at least, when she first _saw_ it happen.

For their morning chores, Modesty and Credence had been tasked with washing and drying the dishes from breakfast before sweeping the floors; being so small, Modesty hadn't been able to reach the sink and so Credence had washed while she dried. Some of the bowls belonged in a cupboard that was too high for her to reach, so she left them on the side for him to put away later. She hadn't thought much of it, attempting to make quiet conversation as he finished washing up the last dish; it was only when they had finished, and Credence was putting away the things she couldn't, that it happened.

One minute, she had been watching him open the cupboard to put a bowl away – and then his hands had shaken, the porcelain slipping through his fingers for a split second, and _SMASH_!

Chastity's head had whipped up at the sound of it, her entire body tensing so much that she paused in her printing of the leaflets; Credence was frozen in fright as he stared down at the shattered bowl, terrified and trembling. Modesty couldn't see why he was so upset over a bowl being broken – her siblings had broken enough things back at her first home, and it wasn't something to be upset over.

But then Mary Lou appeared, looking stern and vaguely disappointed as she walked over towards them; her eyes flickered between Credence and Modesty, cold and emotionless. "Who broke it?"

Neither of them said a word – they didn't have to.

"It was you, Credence, wasn't it?" Her voice was quiet and commanding. Credence bowed his head, not looking at their Ma. "I thought so. Upstairs."

Modesty watched as he followed her, confused as to what was happening; she had thought that they would be yelled at, perhaps not given any supper that night – why go upstairs? She moved closer to the stairs, deciding she'd try and look at what was happening without being caught; perhaps their Ma was going to yell at him upstairs, so that they wouldn't be heard.

Before she could reach the bottom step, however, a hand pulled her away and over to the table in the middle of the room; Modesty frowned at Chastity, only to see that she had gone white and was grimacing. She'd never seen her look so…so _sick_.

"What's happening?" Modesty asked quietly, not wanting to be overheard. "Why're they upstairs?"

"For his punishment," Chastity said, and her fingers gripped the girl's arm even tighter. "Don't go upstairs, or you'll be punished too."

_Punished_?

She didn't have to wait long to know what her sister meant: even with the bedroom door shut upstairs, the sound of muffled sobs seemed to echo around the building, and Modesty knew it was Credence. He seemed to be apologizing, crying out in pain, and it made an uneasy feeling creep up her spine; she was suddenly very glad that Chastity had stopped her from going upstairs.

Credence returned five minutes later, face tear-stained and entire body shaking; as he slowly moved down the stairs, Modesty noticed him doing up his belt buckle again with trembling fingers. She went to greet him, intending to ask him what his punishment had been – and then stopped at the sight of the blood on his hands, at the painfully bright red welts that were shaped exactly like his belt buckle.

She didn't speak for the rest of the day, the sight of bleeding and trembling hands haunting her.

* * *

Credence received beatings the most – he was their Ma's 'problem child', the one she seemed to have the littlest patience for. Chastity rarely received them, though it was possible she'd taken more than enough when she'd first been adopted, and she was Mary Lou's obvious favourite.

Modesty managed to avoid being beaten for nearly a year, mostly because she was careful to not do anything in front of their Ma that might prompt a punishment – and then, just a few days after her sixth birthday, it happened.

In the church, where it was cold and draughty (especially during the winter), it was easy to get scared; things seemed to echo, floorboards creaked, and sometimes it sounded like the door to the church was being forced open. Modesty had woken up from a nightmare, crying and wanting more than ever to have her mother – her real mother – or perhaps one of her older siblings to comfort her. She didn't want to be alone, frightened by the images she'd seen in her sleep, and without thinking she clambered out of bed, opened the door, and ran down the hallway to Credence's room.

His door was shut, as always, though never locked – none of the doors locked, if only because Mary Lou wanted to be able to check on them at any time to see if they were sinning. The doorknob rattled loudly as she pushed open the door, dry sobs starting to tear from her throat; through the tiny sliver of moonlight through the window, she saw him jolting up, probably terrified that it was their Ma, and she flung herself towards him.

"Credence!" She cried, burying her face into his shoulder. "B-Bad dream!"

He froze at the contact, not used to any kind of affection, before slowly patting her on the back. "It's okay…I have bad dreams too…"

"Dead!" Modesty found herself shuddering. "So many people dead, he killed them…It was so scary!"

She heard the footsteps coming down the hall towards them, noticed Credence tensing as his hand dropped from her back, and yet she couldn't bring herself to pull away from him; he was the closest thing to family she had now, the only one she knew she could trust and who seemed to genuinely care about her. In that moment, she felt safe.

Mary Lou had stormed in seconds later, tearing her away from him and demanding to know why she was causing such a disturbance at this late hour. Modesty could barely speak, fright for the woman mixing with her fright from the dream – when she did manage to find her voice, all she could manage was, "Nightmare" and "people dead".

It wasn't a sufficient excuse; Mary Lou had demanded that Credence fetch his belt. When he did, shaking and looking terrified (he most likely thought she was going to beat _him_), she straightened up and looked at Modesty in disappointment.

"I expected better of you," She said quietly. "Hold out your hands."

Modesty had never been beaten before; her parents hadn't believed in beating children, and her siblings hadn't tried to hurt her either. The lash of the belt made her cry out, but this just infuriated Mary Lou more and the next lash was more painful than the first; she barely registered that Chastity was standing at the door, looking deeply unwell and keeping her gaze turned away, or that Credence was in the corner, trembling as he tried to hide his tears.

Thankfully, it didn't last very long; once Mary Lou decided she'd had enough, she threw the belt down onto Credence's bed and looked at her three adoptive children coldly. "You're all to go back to sleep immediately; if any of you make a sound, the punishment will be worse. Understood?"

"Yes, m'am," Credence mumbled.

"Yes, Ma," Chastity said, immediately turning to leave the room.

"Yes, Ma," Modesty repeated, staring down at the floor. Her hands were both bright red, and there were a few cuts on the palm of each one; it was nowhere near as bad as Credence's, but it still hurt terribly.

Chores the next day were much more difficult with her hands so sore, though she was grateful when Credence offered to help her when their Ma wasn't looking. It took them a few days to heal, but the memory of it didn't go away – it wouldn't ever go away, she knew, and she dreaded being punished again.

The worst part, however, was that Modesty knew Credence had been putting up with it for years – and on a regular basis. She couldn't imagine being subjected to this for years and years until she left…if she _did_ ever leave.

* * *

Over the following two and a half years, Modesty learnt how to survive living at the church: to play the part of the dutiful devout child when around Mary Lou and rebel when she wasn't looking, to be quiet unless she was spoken to, to remain strong and not break.

Sometimes she was caught throwing her pamphlets away, and she was punished for it – when this happened, Credence often tried to take the blame and took the punishment for her. She held his hand after, both in private and in public, careful to mind the cuts and scars; she made sure to keep close to him whenever she could, silently grateful and supporting without their Ma noticing.

She still missed her old family, and she talked to Credence about them whenever she could; he listened patiently, and their relationship was strengthened by this time they spent together. He wasn't like the older brothers she'd had at her real home, far from it, but she loved him like a brother anyway – in her mind, he was another one of her brothers alongside the ones she had left at home.

Even with her fear of Mary Lou, her dread at the beatings and at how painful it felt to miss her family, having Credence made things slightly more bearable.

* * *

The meetings were always something Modesty hated; they were weekly, taking place on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Sundays, usually in the evenings. There were more than a few people who were regular followers of the movement, adults that were just as extreme and foreboding as Mary Lou, and they attended every meeting without fail; she hated seeing them, having to sit with them as chills ran up her spine. The only positive was that she was allowed to sit with her older adoptive siblings – allowed to sit beside Credence, and even though she couldn't hold his hand or lean against him during these meetings, it was still comforting to know he was there.

This meeting of the NSPS followers started much the same as the others; once everyone had been seated, Mary Lou started to deliver another passionate speech that detailed the rise of witchcraft in America, how they had to take action immediately. Modesty hadn't ever seen a witch herself, and a part of her doubted any of these people had either – but she didn't dare say it aloud, smart enough to know better.

It was only when Credence had gotten out of his seat and was offering water to their guests that it all went horribly wrong.

His fingers had trembled, as they always did but especially now because it was so cold, and his grip on the clay jug had not been particularly firm because his hands were still sore from his last beating. A sudden rise in his Ma's voice made him flinch, and the jug fell from his hands before crashing to the floor; it smashed apart, sending water all over the floor. Modesty had to force herself to keep her facial expression neutral, but deep down she knew he'd done something very wrong – and he'd be punished because of it.

"I'm…I'm sorry," Credence mumbled, looking terrified as he bent to try and pick the pieces of the jug up; several patrons were moving away, looking at him in disgust.

Mary Lou's expression was as stern as always, but the dark flicker in her eyes said everything. "I apologize for his behaviour. Credence, you should know better." He looked anxious as he looked up at her, still crouched to the floor in a poor attempt to gather the clay pieces. "I'm sorry you'll all have to see this, but perhaps an audience will teach him his lesson. Credence, upstairs."

A few people were nodding in approval; Credence was shaking visibly now, even as he made his way over to the stairs and climbed up with Mary Lou close behind him. Modesty watched as her adoptive brother unbuckled his belt and handed it over to their Ma, shocked and trying to prepare herself; she had never seen him being beaten, only ever the aftermath. Mary Lou directed him to kneel before her on the landing, in full view of everyone, and he was trying not to cry as he held out his hands.

The sound of the belt lashing against his bare skin seemed to echo throughout the church, and none of the people watching said a word; everyone was completely transfixed and focused on the sight. Modesty clenched her fists and looked down at the floor, forcing her own tears back; she wished she could do something, more than anything, but she was only eight – she'd never dare to take on their Ma, especially not when she was armed with a leather belt.

And then, quite suddenly, the belt was whipped from Mary Lou's hand; Modesty raised her head at the sound of it falling to the floor, curious to know why her brother's punishment was ending so quickly, and all of the members of the meeting were staring too.

A young woman, clad in a blue coat and dark cloche hat, was standing at the top of the stairs and waving what looked like a stick – a _wand_, Modesty realized with fascination. The woman looked both angry and upset, her eyes full of tears as she brought her wand down again: immediately, Mary Lou collapsed on the landing, leaving Credence shaking as he hunched over to hide himself.

The entire congregation seemed to erupt into panic, trying to rush for the doors in an attempt to escape; even as Chastity tried to back away, however, Modesty found her gaze fixed on the woman upstairs. She was now crouching beside Credence, her face alive with compassion as she gently laid a hand on his shoulder and spoke to him – whatever she was saying, it was too quiet to hear, but she seemed kind.

It took mere minutes for more wizards to show up, obliviating everyone's memories and dragging the kind lady away; even if the event was wiped from her mind, however, the memory of a blue coat still remained ingrained in Modesty's mind.

* * *

For three and a half years, she had trusted Credence and loved him unconditionally – he was the closest thing to a brother she'd had, and she had thought that they would look after each other. For years, he had done so much for her, and she had genuinely believed that he was a good person, despite what their Ma seemed to think.

How wrong she was.

Modesty had watched him turn into a monster – watched his face twist and contort, watched the _thing_ burst out of him, become _him_ – and she had run away. He had killed their Ma, and while their Ma was mean and scary, no one deserved to be killed. Murder was a sin, she remembered, and yet he had killed their Ma and Chastity so easily, seemingly without regret. He was the devil their Ma had warned them about, she thought, or perhaps the devil had gotten hold of him – whichever it was, he was not right.

The thing he had become had destroyed the church, and she knew of just one other place she could go; she had ran to the home she knew her family had once inhabited, not stopping until she was up the stairs and in a deserted bedroom. Her family were long gone, but she had nowhere else to go – and so she had curled up behind a dresser, hoping that she was safe.

But Credence had found her, had known where she would escape to, and he'd brought a strange man with him – and then that thing had burst out again. It destroyed an entire wall in the tenement, barely missing her as it disappeared like black smoke. The strange man had disappeared, apparently going after him, and she'd been left alone again.

It was impossible to say how long Modesty sat there, hiding herself between the wall and the dresser, curling in on herself to avoid being seen in case Credence came back. Before dawn, it started to rain heavily; she avoided the water dripping through the ceiling, watching as they formed into large puddles in the room – the room was already cold enough, given that an entire wall had been destroyed, and getting wet would just make things even worse. She had no idea what she was going to do: her real family was gone, the church was destroyed, and the only other person she had trusted was a monster who might kill her.

The church hadn't been a home, but it had at least been better than sitting in an abandoned and deserted apartment, freezing and afraid.

* * *

Things seemed to go back to normal in New York extremely quickly – and Modesty adapted, as she had before, because she had to survive.

It was a sin to steal, but she needed to do it – she was sure not to be noticed when she took things from washing lines outside of apartments, clothes that were far too big for her but offered more warmth than a flimsy nightgown. She took food from bins, grateful that many people in New York seemed to be wasteful when it came to food; half-eaten doughnuts and unwanted sandwiches became her new diet.

Eventually, someone else set up a place where orphaned or homeless children could receive a warm meal; it was always a watery soup with semi-stale bread, but it was food and she ate it whenever she could. She was sure to keep her head down, not speaking to any of the other children and keeping to herself; she didn't want to risk anyone recognizing her, especially not the children who had eaten in the church – it was safer that way.

Safer to make sure Credence didn't find her.

The days seemed to blur together, and it was difficult to place how long she survived like this for; it could have been weeks, it could have been months – Modesty didn't know. Her only goal was to keep going, to stay alive and not get arrested or found by someone who would hurt her; she knew that witches existed in New York, she had seen Credence and the other man using magic, and she was certain that any witch who found her would hurt her because magic was _bad_.

A few months after what had happened in New York, Modesty found herself in Central Park; it was always busy here, and people often left half-eaten food in the bins – the problem was trying to steal it without being noticed. A few times, she was spotted and chased away, and she would have to wait half an hour or so before returning to the park, just to be certain that whoever chased her was gone. Other than these few, however, the rest of the pedestrians in the park ignored her completely.

It was around lunchtime when the park was busiest, and so Modesty was sure to keep out of the way – instead she watched the people sitting or strolling, looking to see if any of them had a decent amount of food that she might be able to pilfer. As she watched a young couple with a baby enjoying lunch on the grass, however, a flash of blue caught her eye; immediately she turned her attention to it, finding herself curious.

The light blue that she had seen was a coat, worn by a tall woman who was now settling on a park bench nearby; she was wearing a black cloche hat over short dark hair, the collar of her coat upturned as if she was hiding, and she was dressed – to Modesty's surprise – in men's pants. It was odd to see a woman dressed so like a man, and she knew what Mary Lou would have said about this woman if she'd seen her. The young woman was currently eating a hot dog, seeming to savour each and every bite as she chewed thoughtfully; there was mustard smeared on her upper lip, but she didn't seem to notice. The sight of the hot dog made Modesty's stomach growl, but she tried to ignore it – she had no money for one, and she somehow doubted that this woman would leave any left to throw in the bin. The woman seemed to be studying the other patrons in the park, keeping her eyes down – perhaps she was a spy, the little girl speculated thoughtfully – and glancing away from each person after a few seconds so as to not be caught staring.

Suddenly, without warning, the woman's eyes were on _her_; Modesty ducked her head, focusing hard on the grass and hoping that the woman hadn't caught her staring. She didn't notice the woman's eyes widening in recognition, or the way that she nearly choked on her food before standing up – it was only when she saw sensible brown shoes in her peripheral vision that she realized the woman was approaching her.

She was going to call the cops, have her taken away, Modesty knew; worriedly, she started to consider her chances of escaping, wondered if the woman would bother chasing her – she didn't get the chance to find out, however, when the pair of sensible brown shoes stopped directly in front of her.

The woman made a noise, as if she were clearing her throat. "Modesty?" Her voice was soft, somewhat awkward. Modesty slowly looked up, surprised that the woman knew her name – there was something familiar about her, but she couldn't recall what it was exactly. "I'm Tina Goldstein…why don't you come and sit on the bench with me? We can talk a little."

Modesty hesitated, debating before making a decision; despite the fact this woman was a complete stranger – at least, she thought she was, even if her brain was certain she'd seen her before – she couldn't help but trust her. It was only an invite to sit on a bench, after all, and she could still run if she needed to.

So she took Tina Goldstein's hand, and decided to trust her.

* * *

Miss Goldstein offered her the rest of her hot dog once they were seated, and Modesty started to devour it hungrily (it wasn't poisoned, she knew, for the lady had been eating it beforehand) as the woman watched, slightly amused; there was a sadness in her eyes, even though she smiled tightly. She waited until the girl was nearly finished eating before talking, her voice hesitant and gentle.

"You must be starving," Tina murmured, pulling her coat tighter around herself. "I can't believe…I wondered but just assumed…never mind. You…" She hesitated. "Are you living on the streets?"

Modesty just shrugged; even if the lady seemed nice, she was still a stranger and not to be completely trusted.

"We looked in the church but…well. I guess the important thing is you're safe. Kinda."

"You know the church," Modesty said quietly, a statement and not a question. Perhaps the woman had been one of her Ma's followers – she couldn't tell if that would be a good thing or a bad thing.

Tina looked uncomfortable. "Yeah, I know the church. We…We found your mother and sister there."

"They're dead."

"Yes." The woman didn't appear to feel sorry about that fact: maybe she wasn't one of the followers after all, perhaps just a stranger in the street who had overheard the public speeches. "We had no idea where you'd be, so we just assumed…but you're not."

Modesty frowned. "_We_?" _Maybe she's a social worker or something, wanting to put me in a home to be adopted._

"The…erm…people I work with." Miss Goldstein seemed to go pink in the face; she had let her tongue slip.

"Are you going to take me away?" Already she tensed, preparing to run if she needed to; living on the streets was awful, but she did _not_ want to go to a home to be adopted again, not if there was the slightest chance that a new home would be like her last one.

Tina was gnawing on her lip, watching the girl with sad eyes. "No, I'm not. I was just concerned about you. I mean, I used to see you at your mother's rallies," She explained hurriedly. "So when I heard what happened, I worried because you're so young, you know?"

It seemed like a lie of some kind, but Modesty didn't question it; she had learnt long ago not to question things. "Oh. Okay." She stood up from the bench, avoiding the woman's eye. "Thanks for letting me finish your food, Miss; it was real delicious. I should go."

She had already started to walk away, leaving the woman sitting on the bench; before she could very far, however, she heard the woman's voice cry out, "Wait!", and it made her turn around on the spot. Tina was now standing too, cautiously walking towards her and looking torn. Maybe she _was_ going to take her in after all.

"Modesty, look… I know I'm a stranger," She said slowly, extremely uncertain. "And you're right not to trust any strangers, but…but perhaps, if you want, I could get you some food – some that's not already been in a trash can. To be honest, I don't like the idea of a kid as young as you out on the streets," She admitted. "You don't know me, but if you need anything, like food or clothes, then…maybe I could try and help with that."

Modesty didn't say a word, instead looking away from her and down at the floor.

"You don't have to say anything now," Tina continued sincerely. "It doesn't even have to be a regular thing, you know? But I come here every day for my lunch, same time as today, and so if you ever want to talk or anything, you can come and find me. Would that be okay?"

The girl looked up and studied the woman hard; she didn't _seem_ dangerous, and she wasn't trying to kidnap or take her away – and so she gave a small nod. Tina looked slightly relieved, a small smile threatening to upturn the corners of her lips, but Modesty immediately turned away and made to leave the park once more.

Though a part of her wanted to take up the woman's offer, she couldn't take the risk – she could survive on her own, as she had done for the past few months, so long as she kept to herself. There was a new church somewhere in New York that offered hot meals and beds for homeless people, and so she would remain there for now – just until something better came along.

* * *

She didn't see the woman in the blue coat until three weeks later, and she had nearly forgotten about her entirely. It was only when she was wandering around the park, hungry and exhausted, that she recognized the woman from afar; having no other options, Modesty made her way over to the bench.

Miss Goldstein smiled politely at the sight of her as she approached; she wasn't wearing her thick blue coat today, or her hat, but she was easily recognizable by her dark hair and men's trousers (_how strange of a woman to wear trousers_, Modesty thought). When the girl stopped a few feet away, she shuffled on the bench to make room.

She was so tired that she didn't hesitate.

"I've got half a hot dog left," Tina informed her, passing it to her. "I've been saving half a hot dog each day, just in case you decided to come back…how have you been?"

Modesty didn't answer, immediately shoving the hot dog into her mouth and chewing with relish; it tasted delicious, especially after several weeks of bland soup and mouldy bread. Miss Goldstein didn't seem offended, instead continuing to smile as she looked away.

"I'm glad to see you're okay," She admitted. "I worried that…well, New York ain't always safe for kids on their own. I know that first hand…but you're still alive. Most kids wouldn't survive this long, not on their own – you're a real fighter."

Chewing and swallowing the last of the hot dog, Modesty looked at the woman thoughtfully; for the life of her, she couldn't figure out where she'd seen her before nor why she was so interested in her. It made no sense, like there was a vital page in a book missing. "Miss Goldstein?"

Tina seemed somewhat surprised by the sound of her voice but turned to look at her. "Yeah?"

"Do…Do we know each other?" Modesty asked, frowning to herself. When the woman didn't reply, she continued. "You seem real familiar, but I don't know why. You don't seem like one of my Ma's followers, you're too nice – and I don't know why you wanna help me, why you're not taking me away. I don't understand why you said you looked for me either, not when you said you're not gonna take me away. So…So why?"

Tina shifted on the bench, clearly uncomfortable and uncertain. "Well, it's…it's a real long story. See, we do sorta know each other, I guess, but it's hard to explain… I'm not one of your mother's followers," She agreed firmly. "She was a horrible woman, and she had no right to treat you or your siblings the way she did."

"She beat us."

"Yeah," Tina muttered, and anger flashed in her eyes. "I know. I don't know if you remember – it was so many months ago now – but she…she beat your brother at one of those meetings in the church, in front of all those people."

Modesty thought hard for a moment, trying to remember; scraps of memory seemed to float about in her brain, but for some reason she couldn't remember it the way she did with other meetings or beatings. "I _think_ I remember, but it's…it's blurry. I don't remember her stopping, but she must have – I remember her hitting Cr- _him_ a few times, but then after that all I remember is going to bed."

"Well, I was there that night," Tina admitted cautiously. "I was the one who stopped her from hurting your brother. I wasn't going to interfere, I was only keeping an eye on him, but then she called him up and…and I couldn't stop myself."

"Your coat is blue," Modesty stated slowly, and she suddenly remembered just a little bit more. "I think I remember you there now – you were wearing your coat and hat, and…wait." She gazed at the woman accusingly. "Why were you keeping an eye on him? Why are you keeping an eye on _me_?"

"I saw you and your siblings at one of those rallies in the street," Tina said, somewhat anxiously. "Your brother gave me a flyer, and I saw the cuts on his hands, how he was shaking; I knew something was wrong, and…and I couldn't bear it. Children don't deserve to get hurt like that."

"Cr- _He_ wasn't a child, he was a grown-up," She corrected, though she understood why the woman had been so concerned. "And you don't need to worry about him anymore, Miss Goldstein."

The woman sighed, nodding sadly. "Yeah, I know-"

"He's evil," Modesty informed her, watching as her eyes widened in shock. "He's the one who killed Ma and Chastity; he's got the devil in him, just like Ma said. He's a…a _monster_."

Tina had suddenly gone pale, looking deeply unwell. "Modesty, that's not true – he wasn't a monster."

"Yeah, he is," Modesty said firmly. "I _saw_ him turn into one; it was witchcraft and black magic, the way he turned into smoke – he destroyed the church _and_ my old home. He's scary and evil."

"You don't understand," Tina murmured quietly, eyes now filling with tears. "Magic isn't bad, Modesty; I know that woman told you it was, that she beat you and your brother and sister until you all believed it, but she was wrong. I _know_ that magic can be used for good and to help people – your brother couldn't help having magic in him, anymore than someone else can't help not having it. He was born with it, and he shouldn't have been forced to hide it – that's what made him turn into what he did."

Modesty frowned, unsure of what to say; none of it made any sense, no matter how hard she tried to make it all fit together. A part of her wanted to believe what the woman was saying, but it went against everything that the Bible taught, everything that God stood for. "How do you know all of this?"

"Because…" Her voice was quiet, so soft that no one but Modesty could hear her. "Because I have magic too. I'm a witch."

She didn't wait around to hear anymore – she'd heard more than enough. Without a second thought, Modesty lurched off of the bench and ran as far away as she could from Tina; only when she was sure she wasn't being followed did she stop in an ally between two houses and allow herself to breathe.

* * *

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